


liminality

by verivala



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anger, Angst, Betrayal, Bitterness, Complicated Relationships, Consent Issues, Dubious Consent, Grindelwald Wins AU, Imprisonment, Kissing, Love Potion/Spell, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Gellert Grindelwald
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2020-06-09 22:21:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19485202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verivala/pseuds/verivala
Summary: Instead of killing Albus, Gellert imprisons him. Neither of them have a good time.Grindelwald Wins AU





	1. captivity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Can you do a drabble where Gellert has won and offers Albus to rule with him?"

“Join me, Albus,” Gellert said, standing over him.

The room they were in was made of warm colours and comfortable furniture. Wooden shelves lined the walls, spilling with books and various pieces of astronomy equipment. A knitting basket lay on the side of the comfortable armchair Albus was sitting on. Behind him, there was a door that led deeper into the chambers, to his bedroom that was equally as comfortable and as to his tastes as the living room was. These rooms had been designed for him, with all the care and attentiveness it required. But for all the comfort the chambers offered, there was one thing they could not conceal.

Heavy manacles etched with runes bound Albus’ wrists, suppressing his magic. He was a prisoner here. Had been for some time now, ever since he had made a fatal mistake in their final duel, and Gellert had stripped him of his wand. Darkness had enveloped him then, and Albus had expected never to wake up again. But instead of the Afterlife, he had found himself coming back to consciousness in a comfortable fourposter bed, a soft blanket placed over him and the cuffs burning around his wrists.

Albus looked up at Gellert, the one dark spot in the room filled with warm shades. The expression on Gellert’s face was unreadable, his arms held behind his back and his black and silver eyes trained steadily on Albus’ face.

“We could rule together,” he said, softly, kneeling down next to Albus and enveloping his hand around his. “Be together, always.”

Albus said nothing and drew away his hand from Gellert’s hold.

Gellert’s fingers twitched, a hint of irritation flashing through his eyes. He rose to his full height, his face foreboding. “If you won’t join me, then- ” he said, letting the implied threat trail away into the air between them.

“You’ll kill me?” Albus stated calmly. The thought did not distress him any longer. He had made peace with the fact that he would most likely be killed by the only person he had ever loved long before their final confrontation. The sting of it had faded into a numb pain of acceptance that only rose into a dull throb on occasion when he was lying alone on his bed, his fingers itching for the person who was supposed to be lying next to him. 

Gellert’s face had grown still at the question, his hands withdrawing back behind him. Albus scrutinised him for a moment, his eyes roaming over his familiar features, now weathered by age, but still handsome, looking for any hint of his true feelings.

“You can’t do it, can you?” he asked, his voice rising with creeping realisation. “You wish you could, but you can’t. You tried to use Credence to kill me, but in the end, you couldn’t." Gellert said nothing, but Albus could see the discomfort on his face. "What is holding you back, Gellert? Certainly not sentiment,” he asked, the final line not quite a question, but not a statement either.

Gellert’s lips were suddenly on his, cutting off his thoughts. Albus closed his eyes instinctively, the old, almost forgotten feeling of being kissed returning to him. Still, he could tell that this was different from their last embrace. Gellert’s lips were slightly chapped, and his moustache tickled Albus’ upper lip. His mouth tasted of a faint hint of ash instead of the lemony taste of Bathilda’s favourite tea. The kiss was hard, almost painful, where before their kisses had been playful and light.

After a moment, Gellert withdrew a few inches, his lips brushing softly against Albus as he breathed a confession into the air between them, “I love you.”

Albus opened his eyes, the illusion shattered. Gellert’s face was so close that it was hard to look at him, the curves of his face growing blurry around the edges. Albus leaned his head back, taking in Gellert’s expression. He found no love in his eyes, only the burning, suffocating feeling of ownership and possession. Albus’ eyes shuttered, and he raised a hand and placed it on Gellert’s cheek, causing him to flutter his eyes as he leaned into the touch.

Gently sweeping a thumb across Gellert’s high cheekbone, Albus told him, “You don’t love me.” Gellert’s eyes flew open, and he withdrew from Albus’ touch, indignant anger covering his features. The image of him grew smudged again as Albus felt his eyes fill with moisture. “If you loved me, you would let me go,” he said, his voice choked, trying to hold back his tears. He raised his hands, displaying the cuffs encircling his inflamed wrists.

“This isn’t love, Gellert. It’ll never be,” he whispered, his voice full of pity. Gellert’s nostrils flared, anger taking over him, consuming him as it had for all his life. He started to leave, but Albus grabbed him by the lapels of his suit, preventing him from rising. Framing his face with his hands, Albus kissed him. “Let me go, Gellert. Let me go,” he whispered.

Gellert gripped his hands tightly and tugged them away from his face. “No,” he hissed, his eyes burning, “I will not. Not ever.” A spot of spit flew from between his lips. Taking a deep breath, he kissed Albus’ hands before letting them drop back onto his lap. Gellert rose and smoothed down his coat, regarding him with only a hint of his previous anger. “I can be patient. You will change your mind eventually.”

Albus sighed and, exhausted, slumped back against his chair. “You will wait for a long time.”

Gellert said nothing more, ignoring him as he turned and strode out of the door.


	2. apathy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't originally planning on continuing this but a fictober prompt inspired me. this chapter therefore also works as a fill for fictober prompt 4 ("I know you didn't want this")

His eyes closed, Albus listened to the sound of a clock hand moving forward, counting the seconds on his head. _Tick. Tick._ Two seconds. Five. Ten. Thirty. The clock was still ticking. Time continued to move forward. It was a strange sort of realisation. These days Albus felt like he was living the same day over and over again. It was as if this room existed beyond time and space. That it was its own reality where nothing ever changed.

A quiet voice cut through the silence. "I know you didn't ask for this."

The clock was still ticking. Time crawled ever forward. Eighty-seven now.

Albus opened his eyes. He was sitting on his armchair, his knitting still laying on his lap. He supposed it was meant to have been a scarf once, but now it was so long it would barely suit a giant. Lowering his knitting needles, Albus turned his head towards the fireplace. Gellert was leaning against the wall next to it, his eyes gleaming as the fire cast strange forms upon his face.

Albus wondered how long he had been there, just watching him silently like a shadow in his dark cloak. He observed him for a few seconds before turning his gaze back to his scarf, picking it up in his hands to search for loose threads. From the corner of his eye, Albus could see Gellert approaching him; his footsteps were muffled against the carpeted floor. Gellert knelt before him, as he often seemed to do these days. The look in his eyes was pleading, but Albus had learned to mistrust the tales they told long ago, back then in that cursed, blessed summer.

Gellert gently gathered Albus' hands into his, and his voice took a pleading note to it as he continued, "Any of it. Just, tell me-" A pause. A twitch of lids, a more forceful squeeze of his hands as he forced the words through his lips as if they pained him, "just tell me what would make you happy."

Albus wondered if this was another performance, another act performed for an audience of one, or if it genuinely pained Gellert to know he was not happy. And if it did, was it out of a blow to his vanity or was his much-touted patience finally running out?

Albus sighed. It felt like they had had this conversation countless times. Just another part of an ever-repeating day. Just another fruitless dialogue, with the same actors tired of repeating their lines.

"I think you know the answer to that," he said, lifting his shackled hands.

Gellert gave an irritated snarl. "And you know that I cannot let you go."

"It seems that we are doomed to remain how we are then."

A small frown formed on Gellert's brow. His thumb was absentmindedly caressing the back of Albus' hand. Albus could practically see him thinking; running through different options in his mind, trying to find the one that would be the most beneficial for him. Albus watched as he closed his eyes, seeking advice from his Sight, not seeming to have realised how ironically short-sighted it had always made him.

Finally, Gellert opened his eyes.

"Ask me anything, my dear." Albus raised his brow. Gellert gave a small wave of his hand. "Anything except that. And I will give it to you."

"Anything?" Albus asked, doubtful of his sincerity.

"Anything," Gellert murmured, raising Albus' hand to his lips.

Deciding to humour him just this once, Albus took a moment to think of what to ask. He could not ask for too much, for as much as Gellert had promised him anything, there were obvious limits to what he could request. Taking off his shackles was out of the question, and Albus doubted anything could quell Gellert’s use of violence. As Gellert had taken care of all his needs quite admirably and given him everything he could possibly desire or want, Albus had no need for any more material comforts either. Then something occurred to Albus, and for a moment he was ashamed he had not thought of it sooner. But even this might be too much to ask.

Albus looked back at Gellert, who was patiently waiting to hear his request, his thumb still drawing soothing circles against Albus’ skin.

"Newt Scamander-" Gellert's face shuttered at once, but Albus persisted. If Gellert insisted that he meant anything, he would have to prove it. "-and anyone associated with him, his brother, his friends, his wife, you will leave them alone. You will not look for them, and you will not harm them."

The look on Gellert's face grew darker at every word.

"What is it about that boy you find so fascinating?" he spat out as soon as Albus was finished.

Albus withdrew his hand. "Jealousy doesn't suit you, Gellert," he said, his voice cold. "Now, will you do as I've asked?"

For a moment, it seemed as if Gellert would refuse, but in the end, he agreed. Visibly annoyed but trying to conceal it, he asked, "Is there anything else?"

"I suppose asking you to loosen these shackles would be asking for too much?" Albus attempted, holding out his wrists that these days were constantly red and irritated, no matter how many salves he lathered onto them.

The look on Gellert's face softened. Sighing, he took hold of Albus' hands. "I'm afraid so, _mein Liebling_ ," he murmured, kissing the skin just below the shackles. "Perhaps in the future."

It was Albus' turn to sigh. "You should know by now that I will never join you. Never again." Gellert closed his eyes. "Not after what has happened. Not after what you have done."

"I am aware," Gellert whispered and gently released Albus' hands. Getting up, he looked at Albus for a moment longer before striding to the door. At the doorway, he stopped, and looking back over his shoulder; he said, "But that has never stopped me from hoping."

Then he stepped out of the door and left Albus alone, with only the ticking of the clock to keep him company.

_Tick._

Four hundred and twenty-seven now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk if there will be more, maybe there will, maybe there won't. I can't promise anything xd


	3. betrayal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "I'm doing this for you"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *chuckles nervously* what the fuck

Albus woke in the middle of the night. He did not know what had woken him at first until he saw Gellert sitting at the edge of the mattress. The sight did not startle him, even if it perhaps should have. Gellert had not invaded his bedchambers until now, more than aware that he would not be welcome into Albus’ bed, even if some part of Albus still desired him.

Still, he trusted Gellert not to take advantage. He had done horrible things, some Albus could not even think of without feeling like he would throw up, but Albus could not bring himself to believe that he would lower himself to such an act of violation. It was for this reason that Albus only looked at his silhouette painted in the moonlight, without forcing him off the bed and out of the room.

He felt faint curiosity about what had brought Gellert here, in the middle of the night, looking grave as he twirled his wand around in his hands. But his interest was only faint, muffled by the cloud of despondency that had taken over him during his captivity. He felt listless; most days he had no energy to even get out of bed. Instead he stared at the bookshelves in his room, counting the books over and over again as if the answer would change.

There were forty-three of them. And he had never touched a single one.

Raising his head, Gellert sighed and turned to him. Albus stayed still as he reached out a hand and caressed Albus’ cheek with the back of it. His eyes fluttered as he felt the warmth on his cold skin. The mattress shifted as Gellert scooted closer to him, leaning over his immobile body. His eyes were dim as he looked at Albus, a frown decorating his brow. He swept away locks of Albus' hair that had grown greasy from lack of washing and bent to kiss his forehead.

“I’m doing this for you,” Gellert whispered.

Albus only had time for a moment of alarm before a wet cloth covered his nose, and then he knew no more.

* * *

Albus looked up eagerly as Gellert entered the room. Closing the book on his lap, he walked up to him, kissing him gently on the cheek.

“Did the rally go well?” he asked, taking Gellert’s coat from him and placing it on the hanger next to the door.

“Yes,” Gellert answered with a small smile, encircling Albus’ waist from behind. “I gained several more followers, and there was no sign of the French Ministry.”

Smiling, Albus turned and entwined his hands behind Gellert’s neck.

“Good,” he says, caressing Gellert’s scalp with fingers, “but that was to be expected. You are much too clever for them.”

Gellert smiled and gave him a quick kiss before – to Albus’ disappointment - withdrawing from his hold. Rolling up his sleeves, he asked him, “Have you eaten yet?”

Albus shook his head. “No, I was waiting for you.”

“You know you can eat when I’m not here, don’t you?” Gellert asked sharply, leaving Albus confused by the sudden change in his behaviour. The look in Gellert’s eyes discomfited him.

Albus moved closer to him, wanting to close the distance between them. Before he could embrace Gellert, he caught Albus’ hands with his own, restraining him. Albus could barely suppress the distressed noise he wanted to make.

 _Why doesn’t he let me touch him_? Albus thought, his mind suddenly filled with panic. Tears gathered into his eyes, and Gellert grimaced as he saw them, pulling Albus into his arms. The panicked quality of Albus’ breaths disappeared, and he melted into Gellert’s embrace. Sighing, he buried his face into Gellert’s neck. He felt safe there.

Gellert’s hand came to caress his hair in soothing movements.

“I’m sorry, my love. I did not mean to alarm you,” he apologised, his voice sounding resigned.

After a moment, Gellert withdrew slowly, keeping up the soothing movement of his hands. Raising his head, Albus looked into Gellert’s eyes. Gellert smiled at him, although the edges of it were strained, and Albus smiled back.

 _Everything is alright_ , he thought, _Gellert is here_.

Gently, Gellert took him by his arm and led him to the dining table, where the food awaited them. He pulled out a chair for Albus and helped him to sit before walking to the other side of the table and sitting down on his own chair. Then he took Albus’ hands into his own.

“Look at me, my love,” he commanded.

Albus was confused. He was always looking at Gellert. But he tried to comply nonetheless, drawing himself upwards and looking intently into Gellert’s eyes.

Satisfied, Gellert nodded. “You need to eat when I’m not here, my dear,” he said gravely.

Heat rose to Albus' cheeks. He knew that. He did. But when Gellert wasn’t here, it felt like his life had no meaning, so he saw no need to feed himself. But Gellert knew best. So Albus nodded.

“I need you to promise me, Albus.”

“I promise,” he whispered. He felt awful. He had disappointed Gellert. He never wanted to disappoint Gellert.

“Good,” Gellert said, although his tone did not match his words. He gave Albus another smile, but it did not reach his eyes. “Now, let’s eat.”

* * *

After they were done with their dinner, Gellert drank a glass of firewhisky by the fireplace as Albus tried to continue reading his book. It was a fruitless effort; his eyes kept wandering back to Gellert. He looked exhausted; his hair, usually so carefully styled, was messy from his fingers continually running through it and the wrinkles on his face seemed more pronounced than they usually did. Only a few feet separated them, but Albus itched with the need to be closer, to smooth down the skin of his forehead with his thumbs and to bury his hands into those messy locks. But he stayed where he was because he knew that when Gellert was like this, he preferred being left alone. 

Finally, after what to Albus felt like hours, Gellert got up and moved towards the bedroom. Albus sprang up and went after him, slipping his hand on the crook of his arm.

When the door closed, Albus’ fingers flew up to divest Gellert of his vest, but Gellert caught his hands and, kissing his fingers, lowered them down as he always did. Albus felt disappointed, but not surprised; Gellert hadn’t allowed Albus to do more than to kiss him for a long time. When he tried to think of how long, his mind drew blank, and his head started hurting, so he tried not to think too much on it.

Denied, Albus sat down on the bed and simply watched as Gellert got dressed into his nightshirt. He didn’t need to change; it was what he had been wearing when Gellert came home.

When he was done, Gellert drew down the sheets and slipped under them, holding them out for Albus to slide next to him. Albus did so, gladly. Snuggling close to Gellert, he relished the heat his body put out and kissed him lightly on the cheek.

Albus fell asleep to Gellert’s hand gently combing through his hair.

* * *

When he woke up, Albus felt the stiffness between his legs. He groaned quietly, rocking into the warmth next to him. It felt divine. It had been such a long time since Albus had last had release.

Abruptly the warmth disappeared. Albus opened his eyes and saw Gellert looking down on him, his pupils blown full with arousal. Cautiously, Albus reached out a hand to caress his leg. Gellert shuddered, but after a few moments he shook his head and got off the bed.

Albus lowered his hand, feeling cold as he watched Gellert pacing the room, his cock visibly hard under his nightshirt. Gellert ran his fingers through his messy hair, distress clear on his face.

“What’s wrong?” Albus asked, getting up.

Gellert turned to him sharply, his face an image of desperate anger.

“What is wrong?” he repeated, his voice hoarse. “This is wrong!” he shouted, startling Albus.

He gestured to the room and the bed they had just slept in.

“I don’t understand,” Albus said, distressed. Hugging his arms close, Albus tried to stop himself from shaking.

Gellert looked at him, and his eyes were filled with something Albus thought might have been remorse.

“ _You_ are wrong,” Gellert whispered.

Tears gathered into Albus' eyes. He felt as if his heart was breaking. He had tried so hard to please him. _What had he done wrong?_

Gellert held out his hand, and after a moment a small bottle flew to his hand from the pocket of his vest he had left lying on top of the dresser. He walked over to Albus and thrust it into his hands.

“Drink it,” he demanded.

With shaking hands, tears still streaming down his cheeks, Albus opened the bottle and brought it to his lips. He swallowed and within moments cold clarity swept over him. He looked at the bottle in his hands and threw it across the room, where it shattered on the floor. Livid, he turned to Gellert, who hadn’t so much as flinched. Albus looked at him, and the amount of betrayal he felt was indescribable. Cold rage burned inside of him. In that moment, hadn't it been for shackles on his arms - the presence of which he registered for the first time since he had been drugged - he felt that he could have killed him.

“Tell me, was that what you wanted?” Albus asked coldly.

“No,” Gellert whispered, closing his eyes.

“Get out.”

He didn’t need to be told twice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bad gellert *sprays him with water*
> 
> so, I was struck with inspiration and this very fucked up chapter was born. great.


	4. anger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure at this point you all have figured out that this is not a happy fic, and it will never be one. Please note the change in rating and me choosing not to use any ao3 warnings
> 
> so, a word of caution: there's gonna be some questionable consent in this chapter. 
> 
> things to keep in mind: a) albus is not in his right mind b) gellert has magic and could stop him at any time

The following days, Albus refused to drink anything that was sent to his rooms. He ate the food they gave him, but every drink he sent back untouched. If he had had his magic, he would have made do with Aguamenti, but since that was not an option, he only drank water from the tap. There was danger there too, but Albus felt marginally safer drinking it than anything Gellert gave him directly. After a few days, his drinks were delivered into his rooms in closed bottles, but Albus did not touch them either. There were multiple ways to mask tampering, and with his magic chained, he had no way to tell any longer. Truthfully, Albus did not think that Gellert would try again, but he thought it would get his point across effectively. Gellert had betrayed his trust – what little of it there had been left – and now he would have to deal with the consequences.

Albus’ anger had faded into a disappointment within a few days, but he didn’t know what he had been expecting. Gellert had been ready to kill him to achieve his goals. Betraying Albus’ misplaced trust seemed like nothing in comparison. After all, Gellert’s love for him – if it could be called that - had always been selfish. When they had been young, Albus had been too deeply in love, too blinded by his feelings to be concerned about the possessiveness inherent in the way Gellert had acted with him, but in hindsight, the signs had been there all along. Although he had tried to hide it, Gellert had always disliked both Ariana and Aberforth for taking up Albus’ time, and when he had found Albus’ letters to Elphias, he had made him stop writing to him. But, like a fool, Albus had closed his eyes to it, just as he had closed his eyes to the true nature of Gellert’s dreams.

When he thought back on his own behaviour under the influence of whatever potion Gellert had given him, he felt disgusted with himself, but at the time his behaviour had not felt strange at all. There had been no subconscious part of him fighting to be let out, no part of him that had tried to resist. On the contrary, he had been quite aware of everything he had done. He remembered needing Gellert as he needed air, craving his touch as he craved food, hurting when Gellert was not there, his heart aching every moment he could not see him. The potion had not changed his feelings, for to his great shame, his love for Gellert had never changed, not since that fateful day he had first looked upon him with warmth in his heart. Over the years, it had become tinged with shame and longing and despair, but I was love nonetheless. Because Albus had already been in love with him, all the potion had done had amplified his feelings, until his love had become everything he was, all he existed for. It had made him meek and accommodating, so afraid of losing Gellert’s regard. It made him ill to think of it now. Albus had lost his mind again; lost his judgement as he had always feared he would. And Gellert had done it to him, knowing how it would make him feel.

Albus had forgiven him for far too many things, but he did not know if forgiveness existed for this.

It took two weeks before Gellert finally came to visit him. Albus looked up as he entered the room, wearing that damned cloak and the blank expression that meant he was Occluding his thoughts. Seeing him again, just standing there not saying a word, reignited Albus’ anger, and he had to restrain himself from slapping him. Instead, he took a deep breath and turned away, continuing to gaze out of the window at the desolate, mountainous landscape that surrounded Gellert’s home.

“I see you have finally deigned to show your face again,” Albus stated coldly, “I would ask if you were too ashamed to face me, but you have no shame.”

“I went too far,” Gellert said calmly, and Albus could hear him cautiously moving closer to him as if he were a wild animal about to attack.

“Oh, did you?” Albus asked, his voice deceptively calm, “I thought you wanted me to be your little doll, to do with whatever you wished.”

“I never touched you!” Gellert hissed as if that was what this was about, as if drugging him and taking away his free will had not been enough of a violation on its own. Gellert knew how much Albus despised losing control, how vulnerable it made him feel. But he had still done it to satisfy his own desires, completely disregarding what Albus wanted, just like he had when he locked him in this room like a bird in a gilded cage — treating him as if he were an unruly pet to be kept in a cage for their own protection and to be played it with when it amused him, instead of someone Gellert had claimed to love not that long ago.

“But you wanted to, didn't you?” Albus asked, his voice sounding detached to his own ears.

Gellert’s silence was answer enough.

Anger, as deep and cold as the ocean and as old as the memory of the end of that summer started to burn in Albus' stomach. It was anger the like Albus had never known before. It had been building for a long time, increased by every act of horror Gellert had committed in their name. It was an anger that had festered since he had woken up in this blasted room, his magic stripped from him, powerless to resist, subject to Gellert’s every whim. Guilt and regret and sadness were all emotions that he was accustomed to, so much so that they felt like old friends to him, comfortable in their familiarity, but anger had never been something he excelled in, not after that fatal summer when he had allowed his resentment to overtake him. But now, he was furious.

With shaking hands, Albus reached for the buttons of his shirt and started taking off his clothes. Gellert’s eyes betrayed his shock as he moved to stop him, but Albus slapped his hand away.

“This is what you want from me,” Albus snarled as he tore off his shirt, throwing it in the corner of the room. His hands shook on his belt as he tugged at it, frustration rising in him as he couldn’t get it to open. Finally, it loosened enough so he could tug off his trousers, kicking off his underwear in the same breath. “This is all you ever wanted,” Albus snapped, stripping off the last of his clothing, and standing naked in front of Gellert, displaying his body as if it were a prize for the taking.

The sight of the unreadable mask on Gellert’s face infuriated him.

“Then come here and take it!” he shouted, his breathing harsh in the quiet room, where the only sound was the clock that always kept ticking, always moving forward when Albus was forced to stay still and unchanged, trapped and wasted, his magic far out of his reach. With a shock, he understood how Ariana must have felt, stuck all those years in that house, under their mother’s watchful eye. And it was then that Albus knew why Ariana had lost control, and why their mother had died. The realisation was almost enough to knock him out of his anger. Almost.

Gellert had not moved. He just kept standing still, watching him like he always did, with nothing behind his eyes but his mask and his false emotions. Snarling, Albus stepped closer and grasped the collar of Gellert’s shirt, pressing his naked body flush against him. The metal buttons of his coat felt cold against his skin.

“Take it! I'm giving it to you!” he snapped, shaking him.

Grasping his hands, Gellert shook his head, his voice rough, “No, this is not what I want at all.”

Albus smiled, and he knew it looked cold and foreign on his face.

“Well, that’s too bad,” he whispered calmly, “Because I want it.”

Alarm flashed across Gellert’s face as Albus grasped tight hold of his arm and, pulling him inside the bedroom, pushed him roughly towards the bed.

“Strip,” Albus demanded, his voice cold.

Gellert looked at him for a long moment, his expression unreadable again, before slowly moving to take off his clothes. He took off his jacket first, laying it across the chair next to Albus’ writing desk, then moved on to take off his vest and his shirt. Next, Gellert bent down to take off his shoes, before loosening his belt and slipping out of his trousers, laying them on the chair as well. Lastly, he stripped off his white undershirt and briefs, leaving him exposed to Albus’ impassive gaze.

He was already half-hard.

“Get on the bed,” Albus whispered, his voice sounding distant to his ears as he trembled with a mix of fury and reluctant arousal, “Now.”

Gellert lay down on the bed, his gaze never leaving Albus’ own. Albus climbed after him, sitting across his legs before smashing their lips together. Their teeth clacked together, but Albus didn’t care. There was no love in this kiss. It was fury manifested, as violent as the consequences of their love had been. It was rage and grief and betrayal. It was not beautiful, and Albus did not want it to be. He wanted to make Gellert feel as debased as he had made him feel. Weak. Unable to resist.

Albus bit down hard, causing Gellert to let out a pained gasp. He could taste the iron in his mouth, but Albus continued, his hands sliding along Gellert’s body, his nail digging into the skin, leaving deep scratches in their wake before sliding up to pull at his hair with too much force. Abandoning the kiss, Albus mouthed along Gellert’s jaw, biting whatever skin he could reach. His breaths were coming out in small gasps, and his eyes were filling with moisture, but Albus did not stop. Hands tried to reach for him, but Albus slapped them away. Reaching down, he grasped Gellert’s cock in his hand and tugged, hard.

The groan Gellert made was half from pleasure, half from pain.

Albus kept up the sharp movement of his hand that was just on this side of violence until his gasping breaths turned into tears, and he started uncontrollably shaking from the force of them. Trying to breathe through his sobs, Albus let go of his cock and lowered his trembling form onto Gellert's chest. Cautious hands lay across his body, one caressing his side, and the other slowly running through his hair.

Albus did not know how long he cried, but by the end he felt exhausted, his eyes were sore, and his throat was hurting from the force of his sobs. He lay on Gellert’s arms a moment longer before he rose, looking down on him. There were deep scratches along Gellert’s body, and his jaw and neck were decorated with red marks, some that would surely bruise, and there was a scab on his lip that had already stopped bleeding. Gellert was looking at him, a wary look on his eyes and his hands displayed along his sides as if in a gesture of surrender.

Closing his eyes, Albus swallowed down the nausea he felt. A horrible feeling of shame arose in him, greeting him like an old friend. Albus turned away; not wanting to acknowledge what he had done in his anger. Rolling off Gellert, he sat down on the edge of the bed, burying his nails into his scalp until it hurt.

“Get out,” he whispered.

The mattress dipped as Gellert’s weight left it. Albus could hear him move across the room to pick up his clothes before walking out of the bedroom and softly closing the door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> things will only go downhill from here, so strap yourself in


	5. determination

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a transitional chapter and i kinda hate it but, oh well, it's kinda needed to move the story forward

In the days following the Incident, as he had taken to calling it, Albus struggled with his emotions. He was still disgusted and angered by Gellert’s actions, but he was almost equally disgusted with himself, for allowing his anger to take control of him in such a way. The image of Gellert, laying under him, bleeding, his hands raised in a gesture of surrender, haunted him. He dreamt of it every night, and in his dreams, he did not stop; in his dreams, he took what he wanted with force and left Gellert bleeding and bruised in the aftermath; in his dreams, he wrapped his hands around Gellert’s neck and squeezed until he went slack. Afterwards, he woke up shaking, his sheets sticky with sweat and nausea coiling in his stomach like a living thing.

Logically, he knew that Gellert could have stopped him at any time. It was he who had been at a disadvantage, he who had his magic locked away. Everything that had happened, had happened because Gellert had let him. The knowledge still did not ease the sick feeling in his gut or erase the memory of the look in Gellert’s eyes. Gellert had thought it some sick form of retribution, as Albus had then in his anger, but now that his head was clear all he felt was nauseous and afraid.

It was not a new realisation as such, the capacity for violence and the anger that existed inside of him. He knew very well the harm he was capable of; he had intimate knowledge of it that terrified him if he thought of it for too long. (If he closed his eyes, he could still see her, as she was then, lying still on the floor, her hair spilling around her like a halo - an angel made flesh.) But desiring to cause harm- that was something almost new. Almost, for he well remembered his misguided anger in his youth, the desire to make Ariana’s attackers pay that had slowly but insidiously grown into a deeper prejudice, one that’s existence he had not realised until Gellert had fanned those flames inside of him into a raging fire. But even then, it had been an abstract thought, a youthful fantasy of revenge that had shattered as soon as the first curse had left Gellert’s lips and made Aberforth writhe on the floor, his screams filling the air.

But this, this cold rage, the desire to hurt, to destroy, had been very much real. It scared him. He had never before wished to deliberately harm someone close to him, not even Gellert, no matter what he had done. Even by the end, he had gone to duel him out of duty and shame, not out of a desire to see him brought down. It scared him, in the way that only a few things did, to know what he could do. It was the same fear that had made him pursue a career as a teacher instead of other more lucrative, more powerful positions. It was the same fear that froze him every time he thought of loving someone again. It was fear born of the knowledge that had made him hide in Hogwarts for so long, away from Gellert, so he could not be tempted to join him again. It was the knowledge that over all else, he desired power, and that deep down, he was not so dissimilar from Gellert. It was a knowledge he had made his peace with, but still- it scared him. It scared him deeply.

It took Gellert a while to return to his rooms, perhaps waiting for Albus’ temper to cool down to avoid a repeat performance, but he did eventually return one afternoon. Albus had gone back to his knitting project, and he was wondering if he could somehow turn the scarf into a blanket when Gellert knocked on the door, the first time he had done so for as long as Albus had been here. Registering it for the olive branch it was, Albus took a deep breath, arranging his thoughts and feelings behind an impenetrable mask before calling for him to come in.

Gellert slipped in like a shadow, his hands held in a relaxed position by his sides that spoke of a deliberate attempt to seem as unthreatening as possible. There was a cautious look in his mismatched eyes as he took Albus in, waiting by the door for permission to approach. It, along with the knocking, was such a blatant attempt at reconciliation that it almost irritated him, but Albus only needed to be reminded of the look on Gellert’s face as he had lain beneath him, to make the feeling vanish and be replaced with shame instead. Sighing, Albus looked at him for a moment before nodding at the chair opposite him, indicating him to sit. Relief flashed behind Gellert’s eyes as he quickly sat down. He looked down as if readying himself to speak, but Albus interrupted him before he could.

“I apologise,” he said, the words bursting out of him like water from a broken dam. Gellert shifted on the chair, his eyes flickering over Albus' face, clearly surprised by the apology. Albus firmly fixed his eyes onto his needlework as he waited for a response.

He waited for what felt like a minute, but that could have been longer, as Gellert only continued looking at him, as silent and still as a statue. Albus wondered what he was thinking, braced himself for every cutting remark or hurtful thing Gellert could come up with. But all Gellert did was shrug and say, “You were angry. And you had every right to be.”

Albus shook his head; of course, Gellert would think that somehow justified his actions, just as Albus had thought he would. “It’s not a justification.”

“Is it not?” Gellert asked, his voice carrying that particular mocking lilt to it that told Albus he was doing it to provoke him. It reminded Albus of the nights they had spent debating their plans, arguing over minor details and arguments they would use to convince other people of their mission, the provoking statements uttered with a mocking smile that had always driven Albus insane, the passion sizzling between them that almost always led to another type of passion, to bruised lips and messy sheets. Hearing that the tone again, he felt a shiver of that enduring passion, but he shook it off. It belonged in the past, along with the rest it.

Albus raised his head and looked him straight into his eyes, challenging, “No.”

Gellert shrugged again, the movement elegant but dismissive, rather like a large cat. “If you say so.”

There was silence again, only broken by the clicking of Albus’ needles and the ticking of the ever-moving clock on the wall. Albus saw no reason to break it, waiting for whatever Gellert had come to say. He saw him shift from his peripheral vision as he leaned forward on the chair, bringing out his wand and starting to caress it with his fingers. Albus took note of it; Gellert only fidgeted when he was uncomfortable. Most of the time he was as still and as contained as the water of a lake, but appearances were deceptive, for if he was a lake, he was a lake that had wild currents just under the surface, ready to pull you into its depths.

“I must apologise as well,” Gellert said eventually, his voice quiet. He had an uncomfortable look on his face, the look of a person that wasn’t used to apologising. Albus distantly wondered how long it had been since he had last done so sincerely. Years, most likely. “It wasn’t right. What I did.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Albus agreed with a hint of coldness in his voice. Swallowing, he forced his voice into a warmer tone and said, as sincerely as he could, “I’m glad that you at least realise that.”

“Would you allow me to try and explain, my dear?”

Albus looked at him for a moment. Finally, he nodded, with faint curiosity as to how Gellert would justify his actions. Gellert always had a justification, an excuse; every evil, horrendous act was for a reason, it was all for the Greater Good, and Albus hated himself for giving those words to him.

“I was worried for you,” Gellert said, his voice quiet. His hands reached out and enveloped Albus’ hand between them. The touch might have felt comforting once when Albus was still young and blinded by love. Now, all it made him feel was trapped. He wanted to shake him off, but Albus remained still. Perhaps Gellert sensed that his touch was unwelcome, for he withdrew his hands quickly, letting them drop back into his lap. Rising, Gellert walked over to the window, looking over the snow-capped mountains as he continued to speak, his voice almost too quiet for Albus to hear, “You were hardly eating. All you did was lie in your bed all day.” His hands clenched on his side as anger seeped into his voice, and when he turned back to face him, Albus could see that his eyes were burning with it as well. “You weren’t taking care of yourself, and it scared me,” he spat out, moving away from the window to pace in front of Albus’ chair. Sighing, he sat down again and ran his hand through his hair, dislodging his hair from the meticulously styled spikes. It made him look tired and far older than his years. “I only wanted to free you from your guilt, to make it easier on you to be here with me.”

Albus shook his head; as excuses went, it was a flimsy one at best. He had a momentary urge to tell him that this all would have been solved if Gellert had simply let him go when he had asked, but there was no use in beating that particular hippogriff. Instead, he sighed, and said, “If that was all you wanted, you could have easily given me any other mood-lifting potion.”

“Yes,” Gellert admitted, “I was selfish.” He was silent for a moment, looking down at his feet before he whispered, “I missed you.” Against his better judgment, Albus’ heart gave a painful thud. For a moment, he wanted to reach out and take Gellert’s head between his hands, and press their lips together, but he knew better. Gellert might have meant it, and Albus might have missed him as well, with pain that was as acute as being stabbed in the heart, but there was no going back to those boys they had been. Too much lay between them. Too many corpses lay beneath their feet and stained their hands red. Too much hurt that they had caused each other. He well remembered what it had been like to be under the influence of that potion, to have his mind stripped from him. He well remembered the look in Gellert’s eyes and the dreams that haunted him. Gellert might miss him, but his love had always been selfish. Albus might miss him, but his love had only ever caused pain. So, he remained seated, not saying a word, letting the silence grow until it filled the chasm between them.

He did not know how long they sat there, but eventually, Gellert drew a deep breath, and said, “All I can do now is beg you for your forgiveness. Whether you grant it, is up to you.”

Albus lowered his head to hide the treacherous tears that were about to fall. Clearing his throat, he said, “I cannot promise you that I will forgive you.” A deep breath. He clenched his hand in his lap, forced himself to look up, to speak evenly, “But I will try. If only to make this situation more bearable for us both.”

Relief flickered in Gellert’s eyes as he nodded, “That is all I can ask.” He held out his hand. Albus made him wait until he began to lower it, before giving him his own. Smiling, Gellert raised it to his lips and kissed it. “Thank you, _mein Schatz_.”

Albus’ hand tingled where Gellert’s lips had touched it, and he felt an urge to swipe it against his robes, but all he did was nod his head when Gellert gave him a small smile and swept out of the room. He picked up his knitting needles, continuing his work as his mind worked to find a way out of the tangled mess his life had become.

Amidst his self-crimination and fear, something had been more evident to him than ever before: he could not stay here. If he stayed, he feared what he would do, feared what he would become. He could not stay here, and it was time he stopped feeling sorry for himself and did something about it. If Gellert drugging him had done any good, it had helped him realise how uncharacteristically he had been acting before it. It was not like him to lie down and give up. The strange apathy that had overtaken him – the same one that had almost consumed him after Ariana’s death - had made him weak and resigned to his fate. But he would not allow it to rule him any longer. It was time he started planning how to escape.

He had examined his shackles when he had first woken in these rooms and had soon come to the conclusion that they could only be removed by the person who had bound them. There was no way Gellert would ever risk removing them, no matter what he said, so Albus would have to do without magic, using only his wits. Fortunately for him, Gellert was not the only one who knew how to manipulate people to his will; Albus, much to his shame, was skilled at that game as well. And he knew Gellert better than any person alive or dead. It would take time and not a considerable effort on his part, but he was confident he would eventually manage, for Gellert’s ego had always been one of his greatest weaknesses.

Albus needed to get out, and that would require Gellert’s trust.

And he would do anything to gain it.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment if you liked it! Comments feed the author's soul, bit like vampires with blood
> 
> My Tumblr: bloodtroth


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